The Dark Within You
by YogaForever
Summary: What if she was at the edge? What if he couldn't bring her back? *Sonamy*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own Sonic the Hedgehog and all related characters and titles. They are © of SEGA corporation. The following piece is a work of fan-fiction, written out of a love and abiding respect for the characters and their creators, published on this site for the enjoyment of other fans. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

This story takes place four years from the video-game-universe time line.

Amy Rose is sixteen years old, and Sonic is nineteen.

The rest of the characters follow this suit.

_Thank you for everything, Alex. _

_Thanks for always staying up til 2:30 in the morning to read _

_the first, second and tenth draft, Cooro._

_And thanks for challenging me to do this, Matt, you jerk_

_This piece is for you three. _

_

* * *

  
_

**The Dark Within You**

1. _Amy _

Everything was blurring around the edges. My heart was frantic in my chest, and my tongue was way too big for my mouth all of a sudden. I was crying. I was in hysterics. It was a really bad trip. I knew because all I could hear was my father's cold laughter in my head. They were falling away from me, all my pills were falling away from me.

It didn't start as an addiction. It wasn't supposed to be an addiction. Just another attempt to add to my roster of all the things that I thought would ease the pain. It was supposed to let me forget about everyone's faces for a few hours. No more friends to smile for when all I wanted to do was huddle under the blankets, sleep, and never wake up. No more Cream and her mother trying to coddle me.

And no more of my father. I don't understand why I love him still, after all these years, after all the things Dad has put me through.

So I let myself slide down the wall I'd been pressed against for the last hour, and my sweating, overheated thighs were pleased by the cold linoleum. I was beside the toilet. All my pills were dumped in there, while I silently prayed for the strength to flush them down.

Naturally, my thoughts went back to the other important man in my life. My heart's personal home-wrecker.

Sonic the Hedgehog.

Dad's laughter melted into Sonic's. Sonic's voice used to crack so much, but four years do a lot for a guy. Oh, how his laughter warmed me right up. Smooth and warm, like a blanket around my shaking shoulders.

I thought he could save me from my life. I thought I could make him understand that if I could make him mine. Of course, he couldn't actually save me. And, of course, I couldn't actually flush the toilet.

How did I get so pathetic?

Two years ago, I'd never be stuck in the bathroom, wondering how I could fish out my pills without getting my hands wet. I wouldn't have blacked out. I wouldn't have fallen sideways, hitting the floor as hard as my pills hit the water. I wouldn't be drowning in my own hopelessness, waiting to see who would finally come to flush me down.

"Stop," I whispered into the blackness. I couldn't even remember what I wanted to stop. "Just stop."

* * * * *

Seconds later (or what felt like seconds later), I was opening up my stinging eyes. They were probably bloodshot. I felt terrible. Everything felt off. Just incredibly wrong.

The window was open. It was a strange thing to notice. Maybe I only noticed because I never left the windows open anymore. I always shut the windows, and draw the curtains - terrified someone's going to see my high.

I also noticed how purely sterile the air smelled. Where was I? I tried to sit up, only to find one of those weird breathing-thingies on my face. It snapped into clarity that I was in a hospital room. But, I couldn't sort out why.

I was confused and somewhat delirious and hungry and tired and just wanted to close my eyes and sleep again.

That's when I noticed him.

_Him_ of all people. And he was asleep - asleep right beside me! What gave him the right to get so close? He refused to let me come back home, and wouldn't pick up the phone when I called, and - heaven forbid - he never called me. The part that made my skin crawl was the painful expression scrunching up his face. Like worry and guilt put in a blender.

He was probably watching me sleep, before he went out. Beginning to cry, I wanted to hit him for sitting there. I couldn't help remembering all the good times I'd had with him. All the things he'd done for me, with me, somehow forgetting how few and far between they were. Then I remembered all the bad things, and how they out-weighed the good and semi-good.

"Dad?" I said to him. But I was too quiet. His face twitched and then relaxed into that expression again.

Tears choked me. I hoped they choked me to death. I didn't want to be here when he woke up. I didn't want to get lectured by him now. If he woke up, all I wanted from him was a hug and the reassurance that it'd be okay. I wanted to tell him . . .

"Amy?" My head snapped up, stupidly thinking my father'd woken up. Of course, the voice was all wrong. It wasn't hard and raspy, like my dad's. I turned to face him, and found him gazing back with bloodshot eyes. He looked tired, standing in the doorway, haloed by the hallway light and he looked . . . I couldn't quite place it.

He jumped at the glare I gave him.

"What do you want?" I snarled.

"What do I - ?" He stammered. He was holding a steaming cup. "I'm just . . ." his voice trailed off, perplexed by the daggers I shot him.

Sonic's just one of those people that you never want to see when you're upset.

"Okay, let's try something else," I snarled with condescension. "Why are you here?"

"Because, um," his hands fiddled with the cup. It was annoying. He couldn't make eye-contact with me. "I was -_ am_ - worried about you." The correction he made only gets me angrier.

"Yeah, why?" I snapped, leaning against my fluff-less pillow.

This got his attention, but his hands kept tapping the sides of the cup. "You were out cold."

Not having a clue what he was talking about, I bit back, "so, what do you care?"

"Don't you think I care about you?"

"No, actually," he flinched at my unrelenting blunt stare. "I don't."

Didn't expect me to say that, did you, Sonic?

His lips were moving, but no words were coming out. While this little habit of his got on my nerves,

at least he'd stopped with that finger-twitching. He moved forward, shadows falling over his face dramatically in the moonlight streaming from the window.

He looked at my father, and glanced to the cup in his hands. I suppose the drink was for my father. My father slept in the chair nearest the door. Sonic came to the end of the bed, drink still in hand, and watched me. His eyes were unreadable as always.

"What?" I crossed my arms.

At first, the way his lips moved, I thought he'd answer but his face sort of shut down like he'd given up. That unfamiliar emotion he'd worn in the doorway was back. It made me look away until he stopped watching me.

Going to move around the corner of the bed, he faced the window and I admired the curves of his face highlighted in the blue light of night. His eyes glistened, but I decided it was a trick of the light.

In the next moment, his face was shrouded in heavy shadows again. He sat in the chair opposite of my father. He watched me now, and decided to speak.

"That sucks," his voice wasn't cold, exactly, but there wasn't any emotion in his words at first. "That really sucks."

I'd kept my eyes forward since he passed in front of me. "What sucks, Sonic?"

"Oh, you know," he took a sip from the cup. "That whole you thinking I don't care thing. That actually really blows."

Anger surged me again, "I thought it sucked."

"Well, y'know," and he took another, deeper sip, "I changed my mind."

My eyes flicked at Dad. This didn't go unnoticed by Sonic.

"Met your dad," he said.

"Did you guys talk?" I asked hotly.

"Yup."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What do you think of him?"

He shrugged in the corner of my eye. "He's, I don't know, dad-ly."

"What the hell does that mean?" I hissed.

"You gonna just stare at the wall, crossing your arms all immaturely all night, or what?" He changed the subject with the subtlety of a kid on bubble-wrap.

Tears returned to my eyes, my teeth grit hard as I kept them back.

"You are _such_ a prick." I turned my head as far from him as I could. It still wasn't far enough, especially with my father sleeping in my sight.

"Now," Sonic's retort tore me from thoughts of my father, "correct me if I'm wrong, but you've already informed me of that." He paused melodramatically to consider and continued - intentionally getting on my nerves. "I think it was when you threw the book at me."

"Quit being such a baby," I chided. "It was only a book."

"A _phone _book," he added like it made a bit of difference.

"It was the white pages."

"Still pretty thick."

I threw my head into the pillow. I crossed my arms tighter, to fight the urge to put my hands over my ears. That immature comment still poked me.

When I didn't say anything, the room went quiet. Quiet of us, anyway. I could hear all the machines they had me on clicking and beeping. When had I taken that stupid thing off my face? The silence between us was beginning to press into me, pressuring me to say something. I felt weird. Like I needed to pop a couple pills and dunk my head in cold water at once. I wanted to let life blur and make it clearer at the same time.

Did the lack of conversation press him for words? Who was I kidding? The only times he spoke were when he wanted to argue, or make cheeky remarks, or to tease someone.

He took another sip.

My skin crawled. I needed another dose. I seriously did. I wanted to know how I'd gotten to the hospital. I wanted to know who called my dad, and why he came to my side for once in my life. Before he'd fallen asleep, was he waiting for me to wake up, so he could yell at me like old times?

My father moved in his seat, and I thought he was stirring. But, he settled down again.

Were nightmares plaguing him? I wanted to know exactly what he wanted from me.

I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming. I was on the verge of crying again. I needed more pills.

And Sonic was tapping the cup again, now in a cheerful rhythm. I wanted to strangle him. How had he gotten here, anyway? He was late for the dinner we were supposed to have. He'd never come over at all.

"What do you want from me!?"

Before I'd realized what happened, I'd whisper-screamed the last six words in his face. He sputtered when he swallowed and wiped the dribbled coffee from his chin, not making eye contact. At first, I thought he was being his normal stupid self, looking for words, but I figured out he was trying to look past me, not away from me. I followed his line of sight to my father.

We were both making sure he was still sleeping. Dad snored lightly.

"Well?" I was back on Sonic.

His eyes glinted in the dark, and I realized he was looking at me.

And I was looking back.

We _were_ capable of looking each other in the eyes, after all.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

2. _Sonic_

I felt like I was going to throw up when I saw her.

Seriously, I felt _that_ sick when I saw her. Spread out on the linoleum, trembling and looking up at me with lifeless, half-open eyes. I swear to God, I thought she was dead. Her heart was still pumping, but erratically. Sometimes seconds would pass before it beat again. Sometimes it got rapid.

I pride myself on always knowing what to do during emergencies. I can think of things to save people in danger. I can keep a cool head, when everyone's lost theirs. But, saving people has never been personal. Right then, I didn't know what to do. I dialed 9-1-1 and went back to her.

Pills were all over the floor and on the toilet seat. They were dissolving in the toilet water, just a murky white cloud now.

"Amy, can you hear me?" I said somehow.

"Ames?" I swallowed. My throat struggled not to close up. I blinked over and over. It kept the tears at bay. Then, Amy sputtered incoherently, and I leaned down closer - listening for words she might say. Her words came to me in gurgling noises.

I gathered her up from the floor and propped her on my lap. Looped my arm under her neck to bring her face closer to mine. Her eyelashes fluttered. I thought, _maybe she can hear me. _

"Amy?"

Rick, the guy who picked up the phone when I dialed 9-1-1, was calling my name. He seemed a hundred miles away. At the time, it was me and Amy and no one else. Rick asked me about a million questions, relief only coming when he told me an ambulance was on the way.

"Please hurry." I was about to start crying into the phone. He said they'd get there as fast as they could.

As fast as they could felt like forever on the bathroom floor.

* * * * *

There's an intensity in Amy's eyes when she's mad at you. One that's so strong it makes you feel like you're going to pass out, and not in the good way like when she gives you her prettiest smile.

But she wasn't making much sense, which helped me ignore the severity of her pissed-off face.

"Well, what?" I said, leaning back in my chair, to put a few inches between us. I tapped the cup impatiently. She was _so_ frustrating! It's hard to think I was so worried about her just a couple o' hours ago. Hell, just a minute ago.

She repeated herself slowly, like I was three or something. "What do you want from me?"

_I want you to be healthy and safe. _I almost said the words out loud but my tongue turned to rubber. I downed the last of the coffee I'd gotten for Will, Amy's dad. I watched her as I drank, and noticed just how incredibly mad she was_. Am I really that annoying?_

Switching tactics, -because why answer questions when you can ask 'em?- I said, "what were you thinking?" My voice came out softer than I'd intended and that took Amy back.

She looked confused, either at my words or my tone. It was starting to get on my nerves, the way she always expected the worst from me.

"Did you forget we were going to have dinner together? Or what? Because I was a little late, you go off and hit up the medicine cabinet?" I snapped. She glared at me but then recoiled, blinking, hurt. Feeling like an ass I tried to undo the damage. "I didn't mean to say it like that."

A light went on behind her eyes, the anger and color drained from her all at once. My heart stopped a moment, remembering how colorless she'd been when I found her. But she didn't notice me exhale, telling myself that she was okay, because she was too wrapped up in her own revelations.

"Oh my God . . ." I leaned forward again. I could barely hear her. She sounded horrified. "You found me? Like that?"

Figuring she meant wasted, I nodded. Seeing the pain in her eyes when she stared into mine, I wanted to cry as badly as when I found her. I had to keep a casual face. If I got mopey now, she'd start crying. Besides, I was still angry with her.

It didn't matter, she started to cry anyway. Silently at first, but she started to make hiccup-noises and she covered her face. When her shoulders started to shake, I stood up. I touched her hair tentatively, biting my lip in hopes she wouldn't scream at me to get my hands off her. She didn't react to my touch so I opted to bend down and hug her. She sobbed harder. Great. I seriously thought she was going to wake her dad.

Will kept sleeping. In fact, he sort of snored now.

* * * * *

There's nothing like sitting in a hospital waiting room in the middle of the night. It was around ten and only a little girl coughing her guts out, a woman with a black-eye and her innocent boyfriend, and the family members of some sick patients accompanied me in the cold, plastic chairs. I didn't look any of 'em in the face, but heard 'em whispering. 'Is that Sonic the Hedgehog? Why's Sonic here?'

I'd gone back and forth between pretending to read the magazines and holding my head in my hands.

An elderly nurse asked me if I was Amy's boyfriend. She had about a million questions for me, a lot of them the same ones Rick on the phone asked. Did I know what drugs she was taking, and for how long? Did I take drugs with her? Had I ever taken drugs? _No, no, no and no. _I didn't _know_ anything! This had come out of left field for me, but she didn't get that.

"And do you have any way of contacting Amy's family? Her being a minor, we can only move so far without permission." The nurse said at the end of her interrogation, seeming unsatisfied with my drug-free answers.

Restraining from tapping my foot and snapping was hard. "I can probably scrounge up her dad."

She nodded and finally left me alone.

I'd taken Amy's purse and jacket with me, figuring Amy might want those things later. I unzipped the purse and dug around a little in search of her phone. I found a bottle with the label ripped off, and heard the pills move around inside. My stomach lurched. I shoved the bottle to the bottom of the bag, not wanting to deal with it. I picked up her cutesy phone.

Her dad came up in the contacts, but I remembered Amy telling me he never picked up when she called. He must have caller ID.

It didn't hurt me none that I'd had to use my money for the payphone out in front of the hospital. I practically jumped from my seat, so relieved to be out of the claustrophobic waiting room. Away from the whispering people. The phone rang five times before Will picked up.

* * * * *

Amy gripped my shirt like a vice. I squeezed her tighter and kissed her forehead. I so desperately

wanted to say something that would take away all the pain, but nothing sprang to mind.

When she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me closer, I thought she was going to choke me. She's got one hell of a grip.

For once, words came to me.

"It's okay," I whispered into her hair. I stroked her back gingerly, and let moments pass. She still cried. "Why?" I said. "Why would you do that, Amy?"

If at all possible, she sobbed harder.

I kind of sucked at the comforting thing. I closed my eyes, listening to her.

* * * * *

A middle-aged man half-staggered into the waiting room, alarmed and wide-eyed. I knew immediately it was Will. Amy looks a lot like her father. She's got the same color eyes and her lips press together the same way when she's worried as Will's were while he looked around.

"Will?" I approached him. His face twisted into confusion and he turned scrutinizing eyes on me, probably wondering why this kid with a frog in his throat knew his name. "Um, William Rose? I'm Sonic." I sort of threw my hand out there.

He didn't shake, but instead looked around again.

"Where's my baby girl?" He said in this slurry, half-awake voice.

"They took her back."

"Why's she alone?" He gave me the meanest glare.

I shrank back, unintentionally. I already felt like a nervous wreck, but he unnerved me more. Maybe 'cause of all the stories Amy's told me about him. He reeked of alcohol. "Um, they wouldn't let me go back with her. Only family's allowed back."

He nodded deliberately. He was appraising me with his hard eyes, frowning. His face never softened, and he spoke to me like I disgusted him, "you said your name's Sonic?"

I nodded.

"Boy who called me?" He clarified, and I nodded again. "You the same Sonic that my girl is always writing all those letters to?"

I flushed. It'd been years since Amy had written me a letter. The way she confessed her feelings so honestly in those things . . . I nodded, feeling like a bobble-head.

"Can't ya speak?" He snapped, irritated.

"Yeah." I replied, embarrassed. I squared my shoulders, though, and stood up straighter. He was taller than me, and a lot heavier.

"So, what did you do to her?" He growled. He shoved his thick hands into his jacket pockets, but I could see they were fists inside the fabric. It took me a moment to process what he'd said, but when I did it pissed me off.

"Nothing." I seethed, careful not to glare back at him.

"Oh, yeah? So when I go to see her, she ain't gonna be banged up?" Will challenged.

"No. She won't be."_ I'm not you. _

"Then what the hell happened to my baby?" He leaned into me, nostrils flared.

I stepped back, "I don't know. I just– found her. Like I said on the phone, she passed out. I don't know why," I looked at my feet, stammering on what I could say next. "Exactly."

He got right up in my face again, and I was very aware of his beer-breath. He was probably drunk.

"So, what you're telling me is," he said the words so low only we could hear. "She goes and runs off into yer arms and y'can't even take care of 'er prop'ly?"

_You kicked her out!_ I almost shouted. _You didn't give her any choice but to "run to my arms!" I didn't turn her away because, unlike you, I care about her. _

But, a doctor had come up to us.

"Is there a problem?" He asked, an expression of puzzlement and suspicion on his face as he looked us up and down.

"No," I took several steps away from Will, who shook his head. The doctor nodded, uncertain.

"You're Amy Rose's father, I'd presume?" I haven't the faintest clue how the doctor guessed that. Will nodded. To me, the doctor said, "and what is your relation to Amy?"

"Nothin,'" Will answered. "He's just her lowlife boyfriend."

I gaped at Will a moment, frustrated.

The doctor nodded like he wasn't going to get involved. "Could you please take a seat?"

After a moment, I realized he'd said it to me, and I resisted the urge to make some sarcastic remark. I went and I sat down. That lousy doctor told Will whatever he couldn't say in front of me. I only made out the words 'overdose,' 'methamphetamine,' and 'heart failure.' I swallowed noiselessly. Closing my eyes, I asked the God I Don't Believe In to let her be okay.

* * * * *

After what seemed like hours, Amy stopped crying. She was still holding onto me with her face pressed to my chest. I kept my arms around her. I could feel her shoulders move up and down as she breathed. Never before had I realized just how dependent on her I'd become.

When Amy was kicked out of her dad's house six and a half months ago, Tails and I took her in. Slowly she explained to us -me mostly- what an ass her dad was. It was all about the little things, she told me one night, her dad never did the little things. Sometimes there were grand gestures, and they were fun, but it's the little things at the end of the day. I didn't say much that night, and she kind of acted like I didn't get it, but I did.

From then on, I've been trying to do those "little things." I get up a little earlier than Tails and Amy so I can set out breakfast for both of them and make tea for Amy before my morning run. I'll let Amy take her shower first, so the water's hottest. And I thought, while holding Amy, that the little things must not be enough.

I haven't taken care of her. Not enough. I do those silly little things, but most of the time, Tails, Amy and I only see each other before heading out for the day and then sometimes at dinner, but mostly before we go off to bed. Amy and Tails've got work and school. I haven't paid enough attention.

I closed my eyes and cried quietly. I love her more than anything. I'd do anything for her; I couldn't understand why she would do this to herself. To me.

"Amy?" My voice was tear-strained. "You know I love you, right?"

A moment passed and I pulled her away from me. Her forehead fell into my chest. I sighed. She was asleep. I bit my lip, and looked to the ceiling, pulling her close again.

My eyes came down to rest on Will. I jumped when I found him gazing back at me.

There was a long while that we just looked at each other. I could feel my face grow hotter, knowing he'd seen me cry. He was appraising me like earlier, but without malice this time. And then, he spoke.

"You love her, eh?"

Another second ticked by in silence.

"Yes." I said firmly.

Will nodded.

For a sec, I thought we were going to have some kind of deep talk. Where he'd admit he'd treated Amy wrong, maybe tell me he expected me to do right by her. He'd tell me he'd like another chance with Amy. I'd sternly tell him he'd screwed up, and he'd acknowledge me as being right. You know, all that stuff Amy likes to watch in her _Lifetime_ movies.

But, instead, Will just sort of stared at his shoes and then nodded again to himself. He rose and collected his jacket from the back of the chair.

"I'll be going," he said to me in an ice-cold voice. His eyes flicked over me, holding his daughter. I didn't understand why he so obviously disapproved of me. "You'd better get some sleep. Y'look like hell."

After imparting that advice, he shrugged his stocky shoulders into the jacket and trudged to the doorway.

"What about Amy?" I forced the anxious words out.

Not even stopping or looking over his shoulder, he replied, "I'll be back tomorrow."

With that, he was out the doorway and down the hall. I heard a surprised little voice and guessed the nurse on duty had forgotten that Will and I were still there, after visiting hours. The sound of Will's footsteps clopping down the hall was replaced by the light steps of the coming nurse.

She leaned in around the doorway, worry drawing her lips into a deep frown. At first, she looked more worried about herself getting in trouble for forgetting visitors, but her eyes filled with compassion after examining me, with Amy tucked in my arms.

"You're not supposed to be here, honey." She told me, sounding apologetic.

"Can I just-" I paused, unsure of everything. I looked the nurse in the eyes. "-maybe stay with her tonight?"

The answer was a wavering 'no.' Eventually the nurse had ushered me from the room, apologizing up and down, telling me visiting hours started at 8am tomorrow. _It's four in the morning, so I won't be waiting long, _I thought dryly.

It was only when I got outside that I remembered that Tails had been home for a long time now. I didn't leave a note or even call in my thoughtless hurry, and I never cleaned up the bathroom. What was the poor kid going to think? And since Amy's always calling Vanilla "the mother she never had," should I tell her? I supposed that was Amy's choice, and I'd just ask her in the morning.

The crisp autumn air bit into me, reminding me that I'd also forgotten my jacket. Great. Usually on nights like this I'd run home, but I didn't have the energy.

I made the long walk back, practicing what I would tell Tails in my head. He was asleep on the couch when I got in, no doubt staying up and waiting for us to come home. The phone was in his loosely-clenched hand. I sighed and carried him to bed, just like when he'd fall asleep watching TV as a little kid. I even tucked him, just so happy that at least he was okay.

Then, I got in bed and pretended to sleep for three and a half hours, thinking and dreaming of Amy the whole time.


	3. Chapter 3

3. _Amy_

Though the sunshine was filtered by the thin curtains, it was still too harsh on my eyes. It made them squint when I tried opening them the next morning after my bawling-session with Sonic. Finally, though, I peeled them open and blinked about one hundred times -like the one grand effort was enough to put my lids at top strength- to wake myself up. I don't know how I survived last night. It left me feeling so confused.

He left me feeling so confused.

Sonic had never come home - how could he have been the one to find me like that? I was supposed to be _down_ by the time he got in.

Usually, Sonic comes home really late. Sometimes past midnight. Doing who-knows what, and I was willing to accept that was just his way. But I thought he would come home early if I asked him to. He said he would. Would it be too much for him to give me what I want? Does it take that much out of him? In fact, I don't even know why he'd let me live with him. I couldn't even remember why I came to him first. I convinced myself I only went to live with Sonic because I couldn't bear to tell Vanilla I'd been kicked out -I still haven't told her- like a loser.

I sat up in bed, glad the breathing-mask-thing was still off my face. The clock across the room from me told me it was ten after seven. I glanced to my left and half-expected Sonic to still be there. God, I promised to give him hell and high water for being late again, and there I was just last night - crying into him like one of those stupid girls who can't survive without a man. I'm supposed to be more independent than that.

A glance to my right told me Dad was also gone now. I wondered, very briefly, if he was ever actually there. Who knows? I could've imagined the whole thing.

Something fluttered just above me and something inside urged me to look up. I found a brown paint-splatter-like shape on the ceiling. It was fluttering without stop. Like an ugly, torn-winged butterfly on crack. Staring at the ceiling, I thought that fluttering stain really was moving. I had no idea it was just a hallucination. It just seemed so vivid. It was so entertaining that I watched it for the better part of an hour.

Then, I let myself fall against the minimally-stuffed pillow. I closed my eyes and visions of butterflies in one hundred shades of technicolor drifted lazily on my lids. It reminded me of summer days, when I used to live in a rural little town, before my family got all broken up. Somewhere far away, I could hear the sound of feet crunching on grass and little kids trying to hush-up their giggling. I knew it was a memory of long ago. A memory of my brother and I hunting for imaginary animals in the backyard. I always remember these happy little times with my brother when I'm between highs. But, for some reason, the giggling was turning into screaming. Fighting. I didn't know why my memories were betraying me just then, and why I could see the angry faces of my brother and father, arguing again.

These memories floated little ways away from a breakdown, so I didn't delve into them -fearing the feelings they would bring. I don't know how to explain it. But, the brilliant butterflies were right there with me, for me. They wouldn't leave me like my brother did. They wouldn't treat me like I was invisible, like Mom did. And they wouldn't scream at me like Dad. No. The butterflies just fluttered and touched me gently, kissing my arms and face with the flutter of their wings.

Strangely, the butterflies comforted me until I fell into deep, dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

Panic rushed through my veins. I was sweating and my breath hitched. I couldn't feel my feet! One moment I was in the midst of hundreds of colorful . . . somethings, and the next minute was black and suffocating and I couldn't feel my feet. I sprang up in bed to find out what exactly cut off all feeling from my knee down.

As soon as I saw him, relief washed over me.

It was only Sonic, fallen asleep on top of my legs. His cheek rested against his crossed arms. I exhaled my bated breath and fell back against the pillow again.

My dreams of something -it slipped my mind all of a sudden- had turned into the most realistic nightmare. It was terrible and awful. Except, I could only remember black now, and the loss of feeling that started at my legs but was slowly working up through my whole body. But, it was only Sonic. I giggled at how ridiculous I'd just been. I sat up again, this time slowly, and looked at Sonic.

He was definitely asleep.

You could tell because he wasn't running his mouth. I giggled at the thought. I was going to have to remember to pass that joke on to Tails._ How can you tell Sonic's sleeping? He's quiet. _

I'd calmed myself down and looked at my hospital room. There were identical square tables made from light oak on either side of my bed. Then there were the faded blue-green plastic chairs on either side of my bed. And my bed was cold, metallic and old-looking. The walls were a lifeless white. Clorox-bleach-bottle white. Too white. It looked much the same at day as it did at night, actually. Only brighter. Whiter? I groaned, wondering when they were planning on releasing me.

Come on, I was obviously okay. Sure, I was kinda jumpy because I needed to down a couple pills, but they'd reset my brain or made me breathe again -whatever. Fixed whatever was wrong- so, it was time to go.

But no one came and I was left to my own devices.

You'd be surprised at how fast you get bored when you're in bed and not tired at all. Once again, I leaned against the pillow. And once again, I sat up. I occupied myself for a minute with watching Sonic's sleeping figure.

Bathed in the bright yellow sunlight, he glowed. He looked really pretty but troubled as he slept. I've found that Sonic is most honest with his emotions when he's asleep. He hasn't figured out a way to put up his barriers while he's off in dreamland.

There was something in his knit eyebrows that I just didn't like. Not only did Sonic seem upset, but he seemed very much the same way he did when he stood in the doorway last night. He'd worn that strange emotion over his whole body, and it was on his face again. After a moment of thought, I put a word to the emotion. Fragile.

Sonic looked, for once, fragile. Like he was covered in cracks and all it would take is a single nudge to break him, to shatter him into a million pieces.

But what made his troubled sleep more disturbing to me was the look of guilt in his frown and the lines under his eyes.

Vaguely, his expression reminded me of something. Like I'd seen that worry and guilt somewhere else before. Something was pricking at the outer edges of my mind, coming into clarity sluggishly

. . . Dad.

Dad was wearing that worried expression yesterday night when he was sleeping beside me. I looked to my right, fearful and hopeful (it's confusing) that Dad would still be there. The chair sat and seemed lonely without Dad. I sighed, suddenly disappointed.

I pushed thoughts of Sonic and Dad back for a moment to assess myself. I still felt really off, just like last night. I could tell from the light streaming in at full blast that it was early morning. I've always woken up early. According to the clock on the wall, it was about fifteen minutes after nine.

Wondering what I could do, since I was still in a hospital bed now with my kind-of-sort-of boyfriend on my legs, I resigned myself to staring at the walls and then the ceiling for a cure to my boredom. To find a way to quell the need for two or three pills. I found a brown food stain up there on the ceiling. It was in an odd shape. I felt chills race down my back at the sight of it, because it was eerily familiar.

Somehow, I tore my eyes away and squeezed them shut, now realizing there was pain in my sides. Unbearable pain. Like menstrual cramps, but worse. Way worse. So much worse. It was the strongest kind of pain I'd ever felt, the most ravenous craving. Hunger cramps, I guess.

Oh, I needed my pills more badly than I thought. Just one pill would make this pain feel better. Seven or eight would make it go away completely. Ten and I'd feel good about everything - even being in the hospital when I didn't need to be. Maybe. I don't know. My pills have been less effective lately.

Maybe I should listen to my supplier. I need something stronger. But I hate needles with a passion and I'm afraid of smoking anything with Sonic and Tails in the apartment. They'd smell it and the high wouldn't be just mine anymore.

Of course, now Sonic knew about everything so it isn't mine anyway, and - who knows? - maybe it'd be fun to have Sonic know. We could smoke together, maybe. Tails shouldn't. Tails is a kid and

. . . I just couldn't think about this stuff right then. I'd planned to talk to my supplier later that day, figuring I'd be out of the hospital by then.

I was alive, right?

No reason to keep me there.

No reason at all.

* * * * *

"Mornin', sunshine," Sonic yawned hours later. I'd been lying awake, exhausted, bored and listless. Staring at the stain on the ceiling -still not knowing what it reminded me of- for the last two hours. The weight was removed from my legs when Sonic sat up, rolling his shoulders in the corner of my eye. Slowly, I pulled my eyes from the ceiling and sat up a bit. I looked at Sonic. He was smiling back with his adorable sweet, half-awake smile.

I frowned back at him. No one should be that happy when they first wake up. And frankly, I wasn't in the mood.

"Hello, Sonic. Enjoy your nap?" I dead-panned him. He shrugged.

"I've had better. Bed's kinda lumpy." He replied, eyeing my legs jokingly.

Before I could snap with something snippy, I found out I also wasn't in the mood to be irritated with him. I wasn't in the mood for anything! Geez. I sighed, frustrated by myself. His smile fell from his face.

"What's wrong, Ames?"

"Just . . . I don't know," I shrugged. I kneaded my fingers into the dingy blue blanket on my knees. "I don't feel like me. At all."

He was about to say something, but I cut him off. "And it's not just right now, either." I said it quickly, like a confession. "I always feel like this. I never feel like me. I don't know what feeling like me feels like anymore." I really needed some pills to take away the edge. I was talking too fast. Almost frantically. Saying things I wouldn't normally say.

Sonic nodded, looking so intent it gave me the confidence to continue. He made me feel like listening to me was the only thing in the world he wanted to do when he made that face.

"I mean," I shifted in the bed to face him, "haven't you ever felt like that, Sonic?"

"Like what? Not myself? Sure. Sure, Ames. Everyone feels off everyone once and a while." He said kindly.

"No." I groaned. "You don't get it. I know everyone feels 'off' sometimes - I'm not saying these feelings are anything new. I'm just saying . . . should I feel like this all the time?" I started getting irritated with how badly the words were coming out. "I constantly feel out of place! Who's Amy Rose? I don't feel like her."

"What if not feeling right is how you're supposed to feel? Like, that's how you know you've gotta make a change." Sonic suggested in what I imagined was his extent of philosophy.

"I'm supposed to feel this bad?" I bit back, glaring fiercely.

"No, Amy. No. I meant, what if it's -I don't know, normal, I guess?- normal to feel off? I mean . . ." his voice trailed there, and he collected his thoughts. Oh, the wisdom of Sonic. "Maybe you've gotta reexamine yourself. You've gotta think, is this the Amy you wanna be? If you don't recognize yourself, maybe it's time to make changes so you can get to know you again."

He said all this while watching the dirty linoleum.

"Deep." I rolled my eyes. So not the advice I was looking for.

He pulled a face. Somehow he didn't come off as amused.

"Do you think I've got to make changes?" I asked curiously, switching gears. But my tone came off as challenging.

Sonic gave the tiniest of shrugs. "I'm not sure." He admitted, not quite looking me in the eyes. He bit his lip and continued. "But. It's just. You're not-"

"-Oh, grow up and finish your sentences, will you?"

"-The Amy I used to know." He finished, sitting up straight and giving me this surprised, half-offended look.

"Oh, really?" I said, sarcastically nonchalant. "Then who am I?"

"A very mouthy, moody version of Amy." He grumbled back, not looking amused.

"How do you like a taste of your own medicine?"

"Hey, I'm not moody. That's your deal."

"Look. If all you're going to do is argue, then I don't feel like talking to you." I compounded the words by turning away from him and laying on my side. Against the craving cramps. Ouch.

"You're the one trying to argue. I just wanna_ talk _to ya." Sonic claimed, aggravated. "Why you gotta turn every talk we have into an argument, huh?"

"I guess it's impossible to not argue with someone you don't wanna talk to." I used the same nonchalant tone as before, half-shrugging like I didn't care one way or the other.

"Fine. Don't talk to me then." I heard him fall against his chair in a huff. I could imagine his pout in my mind's eye. "Just tell me when the mood swings 'll stop."

"You'll be the first person I tell." I retorted jokingly, with the smack-you-in-the-face-split-second revelation that this argument was ridiculous. I couldn't be mad all of a sudden.

He let out a heavy sigh from behind me, sounding extremely irritated. I bit my lip to hold back my amusement at his bristled mood.

A moment passed with him sulking behind me, and me smiling triumphantly at the chair Dad had been sitting in just yesterday. How was I going to handle it if Dad came back? I mean, come on. I really, really like Sonic -deep down, I'm just mad at him right now, so I guess I'm "punishing" him by being mean, but whatever- and I can't stop fighting with him. How are Dad and I going to get along? I'm not sure if I've ever really liked my father.

Not sure I've ever really loved-

Sonic started tapping his foot. He knows I hate it when he does that.

"Stop it." I tried to snarl, but I was still amused by our spat. His tapping got louder and more defiant. Figures. But, then, it died. I heard his chair creek when Sonic moved again.

"So."

"So what?" I asked.

"Now what?" I rolled over to face him. He had a distant look in his eyes, staring off into space. "Are we going to keep at it like this? I mean, why are you so mad at me? Is it 'cause I'm always late?"

"I don't feel like talking about it." I answered, tired. "Can we just talk about us later?"

There was a silent second of thought. But then, he took his eyes off the distant thoughts on the far wall and looked at me. There were several emotions in his eyes, flickering back and forth between one another so fast I that I couldn't lock onto one and tell what it meant.

"Sure, Amy. We'll talk about 'us' later." He said at last with a kind smile, in such a soft, understanding voice that I wanted him to hold me like he did last night at 3am. But, there was also a thread of patience in his voice, too, and I could tell, for once knowing Sonic's feelings, that it was hard for him to swallow all cheeky remarks and just be understanding. "What about Vanilla?"

"Hm?" The question caught me as odd. "Um. What about her?"

"I don't know. Did you plan on telling her about," he considered his words for some reason, "all this?"

The thought of Vanilla learning even a fraction of any of the last six or seven months sent guilt plummeting through my body, crashing in my gut where it squeezed my stomach like a stress ball. I grimaced.

"I-I don't want to tell her." I whispered cowardly.

"Then -" Sonic started.

"But I do want her to know." I knew Vanilla would be disappointed in me, but only because she was like a mother to me. I don't deserve her love, but I really wanted it right then. Vanilla could actually comfort me. The more I thought about letting her in on it, the more I wanted to. I just wanted her to tell me it was okay. Maybe I could believe the words out of Vanilla's mouth. Maybe.

"I want her to know." I repeated, with more conviction in my voice.

"But you're not going to tell her, even though you want to?" Sonic said slowly, eyebrow quirked in utter confusion.

"I want to tell her, I'm just," I was whining. "I just don't _want _to. That's all. I don't want to have to face her and tell her. I don't want to see the disappointment in her face when she first finds out." I whispered the last part, not even sure Sonic heard it.

Not even realizing I'd broken eye contact, I raised my eyes to look at Sonic's face. He was nodding. He looked very thoughtful. Very patient.

"Okay then." He said.

I buried my head a bit deeper into my pillow, pulling the shabby blanket up to my shoulders. "Sonic?"

"Hm, yeah?" He looked at me.

"Would you . . . Would _you_ please tell Vanilla?" I whispered. "Could you please, um, explain things to her? And ask her to come? I really want to see her."

"Is that all?" He asked.

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, but nodded anyway. Answering anyway; "Yeah, that's it."

"I'll tell her then." He nodded sincerely. "So, Amy . . . ?"

"Sonic?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't feel like talking right now." Not after that thread of the conversation was tied, anyway. "Okay? I just don't feel like it. I don't feel like myself." I rolled away from him again, feeling sick from the cramps. I felt needy and helpless.

"Should I go get Vanilla then?"

"Sonic," I sighed. "You know, you can just _call her._"

"Nah. 'Sides, I could use the walk."

"What for?" He was the thinnest boy I knew. "No, don't answer. Whatever. Just do it your way. I don't care."

"Amy, I was trying to be funny. Like 'hee-hee, ha-ha?'"

"Hee-hee. Ha-_ha_."

"Snap out of it."

"I don't feel like talking." I was exasperated with his pushiness.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore him. Maybe I'd get some sleep in.

He rose from the chair roughly, the heels squeaking in protest. "I'm going then." He said. Gave me a moment to say something. Another moment.

I didn't respond. He began to go for the door.

After coming around to the end of the bed he came up to the side where my face was. He bent down.

"Amy." He breathed.

My eyes opened in irritation. "What?"

He blinked slowly, just watching me. His eyes searched my face for something. There was a glimmer of that fragility and I found it made me furious, and almost disgusted. I hated needy men. Besides, I always fantasized that Sonic was my rescuer, so I didn't want to do the rescuing here. I felt guilty for his fragile state but also I felt that he should just get over himself. I guess my face showed my thoughts because he sighed and said, "nothing." Then he stood up, halting. "Just..."

"You look like you want to kiss me." I said, trying to lighten the mood and maybe make him snap out of this almost-but-not-quite-fragile-something-something. Who knows? Maybe I was reading him wrong. I can't read the boy's mind, God forbid.

Sonic smirked. Because as mad as we were at each other sometimes, and despite our poor communication and difficult time with each other, we really did love each other. Or, at least, I really did love him.

He didn't quite reject me, but didn't make any moves. He just smirked back. "If I went and kissed you, you'd just bite me, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe. But, would that really upset you?" I countered playfully, curled up tighter in my stale blanket.

Sonic leaned closer, and touched my shoulder, then my cheek. The fragility was gone, replaced by this warmth in his eyes.

"Get some sleep." He whispered, caressing my face with his thumb. Confusion knit his brows. He was probably still wondering about my mood-swings. Or maybe why I wanted to flirt. Who knows? It's Sonic.

"I'll try. But, you've gotta give me something to dream about, okay?" And I leaned forward and he actually let me kiss him. Lips on lips. Nothing more. It felt so good that I ignored the craving for a split-second.

He broke off first. And when he pulled back enough for me to see his face, I saw that he was smiling and looking slightly flushed like he always did when we kissed. He could be so shy. It was cute, in a frustrating way. He opened his mouth to say something but another voice stopped him.

"Amy?" The voice was surprised, with a weird emotion caught in its throat.

My heart froze and Sonic's smile disappeared. He seemed disappointed.

"Dad?" I called back. And surely, when I craned my neck around Sonic's face, I saw Dad standing just inside the room, looking hurt that he'd seen me kissing Sonic. But not hurt like he was jealous or something creepy like that, hurt like_ why didn't I notice her grow up?_ Which surprised something in me, but he covered that emotion with his pissed off half-glare. He was dressed in his truck company's uniform shirt, so he could've just come here before work or during his lunch break.

"I should be going now." Sonic's voice had taken on a cold tint. He straightened up and nodded at me formally. "I'll be back later, Amy." I touched his hand so that our fingers kept in contact 'till he walked out of reach.

Sonic's footsteps echoed on the stained linoleum floor, the three of us in the room silent. I watched with subdued wonder at Sonic and Dad's obvious tension. Sonic stopped to nod at Dad. Dad gave Sonic this dirty look and I could only ponder, dumbfounded, if they'd gotten into an argument. With Sonic's back to me, I couldn't tell how he took it.

"Sir." Sonic addressed in this icy voice I didn't register as his until he was around Dad -who seemed to clip Sonic's shoulder intentionally- and out of the room.

Dad didn't even look at me until Sonic's footsteps faded down the hall. Something about that got on my nerves. Sonic was a good guy! What was Dad's problem? I could clearly do worse - after all, Mom did by marrying _him._ And Dad just stood there, like he was waiting until he was completely

sure Sonic couldn't hear us. Finally, with a hand in his pocket fingering his car keys, Dad turned to me and had on his tired face, which in turn made me realize the pissed off face was for Sonic's benefit alone.

Dad walked the short distance to his chair. He sat.

"How're ya holdin' up?" Dad asked me in his grating voice. Since Dad was the one asking, I fell into my silent-cold-bratty-teenager routine just like the good old days, because he brings out the worst in me. I rolled over so I lay on my back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Peachy-keen." I dead-panned the stain up there.

Just after the words left my mouth though, a sharp jab like the swift kick of an angry kindergartner exploded in my ribs. I gasped in shock. Tears jumped into my eyes, uninvited.

"Amy?" Dad leaned forward in his chair, making the cheap plastic squeal. He sounded genuinely concerned. What a load.

"I feel terrible, okay? Are you happy?" I snapped, my voice squeaking with pain.

"Don't doubt that." He chuckled and leaned away again. It made me so angry! What was so amusing about any of this? About my pain? "How are things going?"

"I don't feel like talking to you." I whispered bitterly, turning my face away from him.

Normally, he'd snap at me for that kind of attitude, but I guess he was taking pity on his pathetic daughter who couldn't survive without her pills. He didn't say a word. Neither of us did for practically hours. The clock claimed it'd only been ten minutes though.

"Dad?" My voice quaked.

"Yeh?" He grunted.

"Why . . . ?" I swallowed hard to keep the tears from coming back. "Why do you want to talk to me now, all of a sudden?" It was much easier to bear your soul to a wall, I found out.

A moment passed before he answered.

"What do you mean?" His voice gave nothing of how he felt away. Whenever emotions became too much for him, he shuts down, and just acts cold. Not like Sonic -I know Sonic is masking his feelings, but he can deal with them- Dad doesn't know how to handle his feelings.

"What do you think I mean?" I growled, snapping my head back to face him. I glared. "You never answer the phone when I call you, Dad."

He took a deep breath and let it go quietly. Well, Dad-quietly. When he exhales deeply he makes these sputtery sounds like an old truck. It's normal for him. Dad has a really, really hard time with feelings.

"C'mon, kiddo," Dad said in a weak voice. "We shouldn't be having this talk right now. You're already tired - don't work yourself up over all this."

"All this" meaning the last six months, two weeks and several days of non-contact. "All this" meaning the absolute neglect. "All this" meaning how badly he's treated me.

"Why shouldn't I get myself all worked up?" I snapped. I was truly infuriated. Sure, call yourself furious when you get upset and yell. But that's not what I felt. When your insides are black and convulsing with rage and you have a want and need to lash out and hurt someone - then, you're furious. "Why shouldn't I? Answer me that. You _never_ pick up the phone. You _never _call me. You refuse to acknowledge I exist! So, why Dad?"

"I already told you. You're tired. So don't push it, Amy." He snapped, just barely restraining himself from screaming back at me.

That was that. I couldn't handle him glaring at me the way he was. With such a blind anger in his squinty eyes and red face. Years ago, he looked at me like that just before he slapped me -really slapped me, out of anger and not discipline- and I couldn't handle it. Not at all. It was stupid, but I was just waiting for him to raise his hand and slap me. I actually just burst into tears. Spontaneously combusted with sadness. Only Sonic wasn't there to hold me and whisper me to sleep, like last night. That's why I couldn't handle a needy man, I guess. I've only got enough energy for one of us to be needy. Without Sonic there, I couldn't stop crying.

Which, I guess, would've been okay. There are worse things than crying in front of your own father.

But, Dad made it worse. He reached out and took my hand. To comfort me. He always, always, always tried "comforting" me after being the one who caused my pain in the first place.

"No." I wept and tried to pull my hand back. It was no use, he gripped onto me tighter.

I shrank back against the pillow, wondering if the synthetic material would suck me in like quicksand. I pulled my hand and he wouldn't give it back. Fine. Let him keep it. I sniffled, done with actual crying, while I looked at the ceiling. I kept my lips firmly pressed together as I contemplated all I could say to Dad.

It felt like I had two emotions lately. Anger and depression. I was either yelling at someone or crying all over them.

A few more stupid, mutinous tears leaked out of my eyes and slid down my face as I thought about that. When I whispered, "I hate you," to the man holding my hand it was a cross between the feelings. Oh, well.

At least Dad let go of my hand.


End file.
